


Like Crystal Guts

by Glossolalia



Series: Like Crystal Guts [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Comedy, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Hoe Aesthetic, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Latex, M/M, My eyes are burning., Penetration, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Work, Spanking, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8568166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: Keith uses an app in order to find sugar daddies, but when one of his patrons sticks out, he finds himself negotiating with the idea that 'falling in love isn't always selling out.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> Is this out of character? Absolutely.  
> Do I care? Absolutely not.  
> Was this a blast to write? Yes.  
> Am I tired? I kinda wanna die.

### I.

There was a solitary centerpiece in Keith's home, and it was red. Red like his wardrobe and general disposition; red like wax apples clustered on a grandmother's dining room table; red like the polish on his toes and the tie in his tar hair. This single decorative element to an apartment so modest in its tininess Keith nearly took shits in the kitchen was laughable, but it didn't exist without purpose, without mindful intention. Truthfully, Keith couldn't process an action without weaving it through logic. He was a rumpled perfectionist after all.

The centerpiece was a red glass bowl filled with cherry-flavored Dum Dum Pops. The bowl had been a gift from one of the many someones who paid his rent, and all Keith knew about the bowl was that it was expensive and from northern Italy. Like the promise of a rising sun, tiny balls of heat-hardened sugar manufactured somewhere in Ohio were dispensed into the bowl every Monday morning. This was a habitual purchase on Keith's end dating back to Pre-college Dropout. If somehow forgotten, Keith found himself mystified by the lack of candy for days, wondering about the sudden hole in the fabric of his life.

When the bowl emptied, there was a reminder at the bottom.

This reminder caught light in a way the bowl wished it could. Silvery and foiled, Keith knew the distinct packaging well. It was squared and wore a distended halo that stood like ringworm on skin. It was so  _there_ and recognizable in a way that put off the majority.

It was a condom.

Without blame, one might ask why Keith kept a condom at the bottom of a bowl of cherry suckers. Aside from the very pointed Nabokovian imagery he found to be distastefully tongue-in-cheek, Keith saw it as a bit of an hourglass. Once the suckers were gone, then it was time to get back on the horse and utilize the condom. It was how he kept himself liable. There was a direct correlation to the numbers in his bank account versus the number of condoms he purchased, and like anyone who got tired of their job, sometimes he slacked off.

Currently, he was leaned over the bowl with the final sucker hanging from his lips. Mauve gaze cast downward, he rolled the candy to a corner of his mouth and managed a wet ' _huh_.' Keith sucked back and pushed himself away from the acrylic tabletop only to spin on his heel and stride toward his bedroom. He supposed he should do something about  _that_.

Rent or whatever.

He scooped his phone off the coffee table and dragged his thumb across the touchscreen. Upon entering his bedroom, he passed his full body mirror, paused to examine the integrity of his ass and then crunched through the sucker so that it combusted in his mouth like glass. Satisfied, he flung open one of his closet doors and processed the wall of red with bored discernment.

Red, black and white, to be exact.

Keith didn't drift from his brand simply because he'd found habit in telling people, 'I'm the one in red.' If Keith had a dollar for every time he'd heard a following Chris De Burgh joke, then maybe he'd have enough money to pay for an under the table lobotomy. God knew, whenever he finished sucking the dick of someone who even listened to Chris De Burgh, he needed one.

His phone vibrated in hand, and he unlocked it with his other set of fingers in the closet. It was a notification from the app Pal-and-Din, which was supposed to be a play on 'paladin.' In short, it was a sugar daddy app refurbished to look like a charity app where someone could 'be a knight' to another person. In exchange for someone's company, the 'paladin' deposited money directly into their companion's bank account. It was legal and significantly easier than cash.

The alert buzzed again to let him know someone had requested a conversation. He read the username ' _t.shiro_ ' and popped open the profile.

> **TAKASHI SHIROGANE**  
>  **32 185LBS 6'2**  
>  **BRWN EYES. BLACK/GREY HAIR. JAPANESE.**  
>  **SURGEON  
>  ** **\- specializing in pediatric care**

Grey at thirty-two?

Keith supposed that didn't matter, but what did matter was the word ' _surgeon_.' The fact the man worked with children was also interesting. Young and successful men with kind hearts tended to be married or at least taken by someone. He wondered if he was a closet case.

Those were always fun (see: quick to leave their wives).

It was typical of Keith to avoid profile pictures due to them being discouraging, so rather than inspect the other's face until repulsed, he opened the app's chat client. He wouldn't be able to pick his outfit until the man told him where he wanted to meet and what exactly he wanted to do. 

> **@spitfire** : you rang? if you're bored then i've got time for you.

That familiar drawn out pause of contemplation. Sometimes Keith's curt forwardness was seen as fun. Other times, he found himself being called a 'frigid bitch.'

> **@t.shiro** : Yeah, I'm bored. Sorry. You're kinda my first go at this. I don't know what to say. How much time do you have for me?
> 
> **@spitfire** : i like to be gone by the time the sun's up.

Another pregnant pause.

> **@t.shiro** : Right. Want to meet me and get coffee? Your profile said you like coffee.
> 
> **@spitfire** : coffee like… just coffee?
> 
> **@t.shiro** : To make sure you're a person I'd want to be closer to. You know… Make sure the interest is there or something like that...

Keith pressed his phone against the side of his head and groaned as if he'd been hit by a truck full of human hearts.

> **@spitfire** : cool. that's fair. what do you like to be called?

His first thought ' _Daddy_ ,' and Keith promptly loathed himself to hell and back. He cleared his throat and tugged a black, sleeveless, crop top turtleneck out of the closet followed by black pants so tight they could've suffocated a star. A pair of boots sealed the deal, and he decided the latex wasn't going to be necessary that evening. He left it out of his bag.

> **@t.shiro** : Shiro is fine.
> 
> **@spitfire** : nice. i'm keith, shiro. tell me which coffee shop you want to meet at and i'll be there as soon as i can.

An address appeared on screen. It was for a place called Orbit, and Keith recognized the location as an upscale coffee shop within the Garrison Hospital district. He promptly switched his combat boots out for his pair of black Louis Vuitton high heritage boots and dug out a red fur jacket.

> **@t.shiro** : I've really never done this before.
> 
> **@spitfire** : don't be nervous. i've done this plenty of times. it gets easier.
> 
> **@t.shiro** : Thanks for that.
> 
> **@spitfire** : np. i'll take care of you.
> 
> **@t.shiro** : Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?
> 
> **@spitfire** : we can play that game, yeah.

### II.

It was November, and Keith fully recognized this fact due to the setting sun. There was something about the massiveness of that bright orange sphere sinking within cold air that brought him back to autumn's reality. The city didn't have many fallen leaves to crunch through, but it did have a horizon line peeking out of the grid and tart air that crept into joints. It also had fashion, which for many, was the true indicator seasons had swapped.

Keith fixed his jacket, an eyebrow raised as he smoked his Virginia Slim and scanned the final conversation he'd had with this Dr. Takashi Shirogane. He reminded himself the man was younger. Younger meant balls that sagged less and a firmer body to hold onto. Younger meant more strength and an interest in abstract kinks like balloon popping on camera and pretending to return to the womb after a tragic car crash with someone named Carol.

The latter one had definitely been the surrealist moment in Keith's young life, and he'd once spent an entire night reenacting it for his fellow app-user and longtime friend, Lance.

" _How do you metaphorically return to the fucking womb?"_

" _He put me between these couch cushions and called me Carol. He hugged me when I was curled up in the fetal position and cried the whole time."_

" _Did he get hard? Was he hardy-har for your reverse birth?"_

" _No._

" _You're kidding."_

" _It would've been less awkward if he were."_

" _God forgets you too often, Keith."_

On that irrefutable fact, they'd finished two blenders' worth of pre-made margarita mix. A drunken Lance had also tried to reverse birth, but midway, given up and made a fort with the couch cushions, blanket roof and all.

 _Maybe_ , Keith thought,  _if I'm lucky the guy's dick will be big. Maybe he'll even be self-conscious enough to keep the lights off or blindfold me. Maybe if I'm really lucky, then he'll choke me until I pass out and not notice before he's finished._

Of course, he promptly remembered Lance's words. God really did forget him more often than not. He predetermined a pencil dick and poor hygiene just to save his morale.

And so the band played on.

> **@spitfire** : i'll be in red.
> 
> **@t.shiro** : I'm sure I'll see you.

It was the last thing they'd said to one another before Keith had grabbed his car keys, and Keith had to admit he was already getting sick of waiting. It was cold.

"Are you Keith?"

Said Keith was in the middle of dropping his cigarette and digging a heel into its useless cherry. As if stunned, he stopped mid-dig and quickly blinked. It was a nice voice, deep but crisp with a gentle authority Keith definitely wouldn't have minded while seated on an exam table.

"That depends…" Keith began, sounding bored.

Pocketing his phone, he turned over his shoulder with a smooth pivot only to stop short. Without mercy, his heart slammed toward the roof of his mouth and his brain hazed into a white cotton blur. Processing, Keith lifted his hands as if he'd been caught red-handed when it was really pure shock and visceral disbelief.

"Depends on what?"

Standing before Keith was God's apology.

A bulking specimen of a man, Takashi Shirogane was the human embodiment of an inverted pyramid. Biceps bigger than Keith's thighs and shoulders so broad Keith was pretty sure he could've used his own body as a form of measurement for them (two Keiths wide), he dragged his eyes from Shiro's square toe boots and on toward his face. Across his nose was a scar, but the tanned tissue had long since faded into a dulled horizon line.

"…depends if your name is Takashi Shirogane."

The face was what made him temporarily forgive all of his life's misgivings. Square jaw, cheekbones so high Keith was pretty sure they knew Jesus and Mary, a pair of otherworldly rainy eyes and full lips; Shiro was an Adonis in his own right. He stood singular with his faded undercut and dark hair (the dark bleeding into a meticulously bleached white forelock that was currently styled wavy). It laid disheveled and forward in a way that elegantly clashed with his expensive black sweater and pants, and Keith could feel his immediate  _want_ pulsating.

It took him a moment before he noticed Shiro's bionic arm, but it was a secondary element in the moment. He'd been in Shiro's presence for five minutes and was experiencing the vapors.

"Shiro," the man confirmed and had a lopsided smile for Keith, also looking him over from head to toe. "I didn't realize you'd be so—"

"Short?"

"—attractive."

_Son of a…_

"Well," Keith started, shifting his weight and wearing a smug look, "there's a reason I'm popular. I'm more than just good at what I do. That's never what grabs people's attention in the first place."

"Popular?" Shiro asked, but he was smiling more to himself than Keith. He was taking it in stride for how young he was, and Keith was impressed. "I'm flattered then."

"Don't be. You went to medical school to get this coffee with me. You worked a lot harder for this meeting than I had to."

Shiro reached up for his jaw and rubbed it with a short whistle. At that, he looked Keith over and cut his designer boots a long look. "I  _bet_  me being a surgeon was appealing to you."

Keith shrugged, palms turned upward. "Coffee sounded good, too."

They were standing outside the coffee shop's double glass doors. Its glaring white interior stood behind them as if they were being prepared for a Sears portrait, and the clacking of fall boots and hush of passing conversations were their soundtrack. A bus blurred past, and Keith's tousled hair swayed around his neck, giving him a windswept quality that balanced his stoic expression. Shiro wordlessly reached for one of the doors with his robotic arm, and he smoothly tugged it open. Then bowed forward, he gestured with faux-chivalry that made other shift his lips to the side.

"After you."

Keith walked ahead of him. He knew full well that Shiro's delayed following was him cross-examining the assets he was looking to invest in.

"Do you live nearby?" Keith asked over his shoulder.

"It's a five-minute drive."

"This is a nice area. You don't mind being seen with me?"

Shiro considered this, staring as if perplexed by the notion. "Should I be?"

"People talk."

At the counter, Shiro dug out his wallet, and he spoke beneath his breath. "They do, but that's all they do."

One autumn spice cappuccino later and Keith was seated in a corner with his new paladin, the sleepy yellow light and soothing music clashing violently with their intentions. Keith didn't mind the elegant white tables and sense of bougie normalcy. Instead, he sipped his drink and reached to bring his hair over one side, content in his presence with the doctor.

"Are you actually twenty-five?" Shiro asked, eyes more focused on the crowd at the espresso bar than Keith.

"You could card me," Keith offered, sounding sincere. He set down his cup. "Do you want to see my driver's license?"

Shiro considered this. "Yeah."

He grabbed his wallet and smoothly fished through his several credit cards, none of which actually had his name on them. Keith found his license, showed Shiro, and when Shiro looked appeased, put it away with a small shift of his hips.

Keith hummed and brought the petite white mug back to his lips. He pretended he didn't notice Shiro looking at them. "You work with children."

"I operate on them—yeah."

His expression softened, as if fond of the idea. "Can I ask why?"

"This," Shiro said, and he lifted his bionic hand. He opened and closed his fingers. Keith expected a whirr or click of joints, but it was eerily silent. "I had a bad accident when I was a kid. In my teens, I was one of the lucky first to get a prosthetic model that passes surgical standard in terms of steadiness and brain to nerve accuracy. In fact, sometimes, it works better than my flesh hand, which can be frustrating while operating. I mainly wanted to help kids the same way my doctor helped me. It was either that or go to space, I guess."

"Space," Keith said and brought his cheek into his raised palm, eyes dragging over Shiro who was still having a difficult time looking him in the eye. "I would've picked space."

"You seem like a space person, to be honest."

"What's _that_  supposed to mean?" Keith asked. He chewed his smile and swallowed it.

Shiro paused, arched an eyebrow and then managed to finally reply without laughing in spite of himself. "I'm not even sure. You're just space. Maybe from space."

"Maybe  _from_  space. Are you saying I seem weird?"

"Not exactly," Shiro challenged, and he inspected his cup with a smile that made Keith's organs consider crashing;  _flat line, call an ambulance, this boy is dying_. Shiro flashed perfectly white teeth that added to the succinctness of his faultlessly angled brows.

Keith had to ask the next question.

"Why do you need me? You're kind of…"

_Perfect._

"…you're definitely someone's ideal."

Keith's words were licorice, but that was a habit. If Shiro noticed the slight change in inflection, then he didn't make it apparent. He was too busy contemplating his answer.

"Ever hear about a surgeon's hours before?"

"Ever hear about eHarmony and not hoe dot com?"

That made Shiro laugh again, and he flicked his stare to Keith's face. Something about his laugh made Keith smile, and he attempted to sew his lips shut, but Keith rubbed his cheek and caved. He smiled back with a look to the side and fingers pushing back his own bangs. It was why he didn't notice the sudden glint in Shiro's eyes.

"Are you trying to lose out on money?" Shiro asked, but he continued when Keith only shrugged and coughed back a laugh, then unable to clap back. "Right. Fine. Honesty hour then. If you want the truth, then I can't keep up with a real relationship. Actually, I'm the most pathetic thirty-something-year-old I know. Every other doctor is married with kids and a backyard, but I can't focus on dating even when I try. I love my job. I like taking care of people, but it bleeds into everything in a really disorganized way. That's why I found that app. I want to take care of someone, but I have to do it on my schedule and within my means."

"A giver," Keith teased. "A regular fledgling daddy."

"You're killing me," Shiro said, exhaling the words but barely expressing exasperation. Shiro shifted over his cup of black coffee and gestured for Keith to come closer. He used a come hither gesture that made Keith's body teem with hot steam. "Come here."

Keith pushed his hair behind his ear and did as told. "What?"

"I think you're pretty cute," Shiro admitted, words low even though the bustle and music already drowned their voices. "I know it's early, but give me your rules for this kind of thing."

"I've had people tear me open without a conversation. This isn't early."

" _Rules_ ," Shiro insisted.

"My rules—" Keith stopped short. He realized what Shiro meant and then seamlessly proceeded to answer. His fingers walked toward Shiro's hand, and he tiptoed them across the bridge of his knuckles. "Right now, I'm giving you permission to touch me. I'll let you know when that permission is gone. I usually don't let people, but I'm telling you you can kiss me because I can stand your face and your teeth look nice. I do spend the night, but I'm always gone before the coffee's done. Don't tell me to quit smoking. Don't try to raw me without permission. If you were married, then I'd tell you to keep your wife, but you're not."

"I'm pretty gay," Shiro said simply, finding the word ' _wife_ ' comical. "But noted."

"The safe phrase is ' _red lion_ ,' and if I say it and you don't stop, then I'll call the cops and ruin your career. Trust me, I know how to."

"Sounds like you've had some experiences."

"And those experiences are none of your business."

Shiro nodded at that. "Fair enough. Anything else?"

"One more thing."

Keith reached for the front of Shiro's shirt to coax him forward just a bit more. Wordlessly, he brought his lips to Shiro's, and he tilted his head just as he parted them. Keith glided his tongue along the seam of the man's mouth with lowering lids, doing his best to maintain balance. His breathing hitched high, which made Shiro's tensed posture melt and his own kissing relax. Shiro's tongue smoothly peeked out through laden breath, and Keith shifted when Shiro not only caught the side of his face but reached beneath the table to grasp onto his leather clad thigh.

Keith retracted with a hum, licking the thin string of saliva that connected them like a spider web. Shiro didn't let go of his thigh, but his grip did loosen.

"My turn," Shiro said, vaguely breathless. "My rules."

"Oh, so  _you_  have rules."

Shiro shushed him before swiping his thumb along Keith's bottom lip. "When we're together? When you're with me? That's it. I don't want to know who else you've fucked. I don't want to know what you've done for other people. Do as I say. Wear what I like, and get used to my schedule. I'm going to want you after some shifts, even if it's just to have you sit on my lap. Trust me, baby, I'm nice, but I can be very  _not_ nice."

Keith kissed Shiro's thumb at 'baby' and then kissed down his open palm. He stopped at the flat of his wrist. "I'm getting the feeling you  _want_  to be  _not nice_."

"I'm getting the feeling you're going to give me plenty of reasons not to be."

Keith smiled and ignored the looks they were getting from women who were one economic swing away from chunky caramel highlights.

"As soon as I saw you I wanted to let you get your dick wet," Keith breathed, trying not to lean in to kiss him again. "You don't have to worry about me following those rules."

They discussed Keith's rent, which neighborhood he lived in and what to do when Keith wanted to have days to himself. Keith admitted to liking cathartic beatings and dressing up, and Shiro promised him he was interested in both and more.

"I have a surgery scheduled at 5 AM, so I need to go," Shiro finally said, almost looking reluctant.

"Make that money. I'll walk with you."

Honestly, Keith didn't mean to suck Shiro off in his car. Not that something like that could happen by accident, but well, it felt that way. When they finished their coffee and walked to Shiro's black Audi, Keith felt a serious sense of inspiration thanks to the expensive vehicle.

"Nice ride," Keith said as if unaffected, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the car door. "Is she new?"

"She's pretty new," Shiro said and swung his keys around his finger. "Want to take a look inside? Another rule, no cigarettes in the car."

"Damn," Keith said and took a long drag. "Guess this really _isn't_  gonna work."

Shiro stared him down, but Keith broke his straight face with a smile. He dropped the barely smoked cigarette and crushed it with his heel.

"I'm kidding."

" _You_  are a tart."

"Trust me, I am well aware."

Looking inside turned into Keith settled in the passenger seat, making the observation that their end of the parking lot was definitely darker than the rest. Said commentary created an unspoken weight between them that hung like a dangling sword. Without prompting, Keith leaned over Shiro's lap and got the second kiss he'd been pining for only moments before.

"Backseat," Shiro ordered after pulling off Keith's bottom lip with a pop.

Keith didn't need to be told twice.

Shiro's belt was undone the moment he sat down, and Keith opened his black pants with rushed hands, fingers peeling down the zipper as if carefully unwrapping a present. He spotted the black boxer briefs and the bulge beneath them. Voluntarily, he leaned forward and dragged the tip of his tongue along the cotton-clad curve, aching for the heat beneath and knowing it'd feel good to have someone like Shiro fuck him until he drooled on himself. That said, when Keith pushed up Shiro's shirt so that he could watch his stomach tighten, he had to pause on the fantasy and retract.

"You don't have time for dating, but you've have time to go to the gym?" Keith asked, pulling down the front of his briefs.

Shiro lifted an eyebrow but was too busy steadying his breath to look surprised.

"I'm going to gag you on the first night," he warned. With his robotic hand, Shiro reached for Keith's head and playfully guided him closer.

Keith hummed at the thought and his eyes locked onto Shiro's escaped cock. "Do it, Daddy. That's why I'm here."

While average in length, the girth made Keith's throat clench at the sight alone. It attractively hooked upward, the pink flesh pooling purple at that thick tip and Shiro's slit on the brink of pooling precum. The underlying vein laid pronounced in its blue, and it was the perfect target for a drawn out lick. Said lick was the first thing Keith did, breath hot and eyes smoldering as he got his first taste.

 _Don't blow the guy raw_ , Keith tried to tell himself as he savored the heat.  _Make him work for it._

He'd never been very good at listening to himself.

"Make a mess," Shiro said as Keith looked up at him, lips enclosing around the tip. They made eye contact when Keith lowered his head, and the movement was so seamless and without resistance Shiro could only watch the mastered art form unfold before him.

Fighting moans, Shiro smoothed his fingers down the other's spine, noting how saliva descended his cock in small rivers and promptly disappeared along his balls. Keith's breathing circled the word ' _control_ ,' and with ease, he fucked his mouth on the length's entirety. Throat filled and tongue gradually accumulating a salty film, Keith's cheeks hollowed just as he decided to fill his tight throat to the brim.

His nose pressed into a patch of black pubic hair, and Keith shifted forward in excitement, moan muffled but too honest. He pulled back his head, freeing himself from the length with a pop and then shifting his shoulders to remove his jacket.

"Jesus Christ," Shiro whispered when he spotted Keith's cut biceps and slated body.

Keith lowered his mouth again and settled on an elbow, unapologetically enjoying himself. This enjoyment escalated when Shiro's breathing climbed. Fought groans pried at the man's teeth, and Keith smiled to himself. He flattened his tongue and lifted his ass, wanting to take every article of clothing he had on off when Shiro reached for the end of his shirt and tugged it upward.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd wanted someone else and not simply been wanted. Keith pulled off once more, and he grasped onto the root of Shiro's cock. Jerking him off, he leaned forward and licked a path from his happy trail and on toward the center of his core. He lightly kissed, and with that smoke-filled voice, Keith whispered ' _daddy_.'

Shiro planted his hand against the car window, eyes squeezed shut and other hand still cradling Keith's head. His panting filled the car along with the sound of Keith's pointed hand job.

"Will you come in my mouth?" Keith asked, getting a rise out of Shiro's breaking demeanor.

Shiro didn't answer, but he did inhale sharp and tug Keith's head back toward his cock, a signal in itself. Keith caught the gist, and he mercilessly sucked the crown like a lollipop, rolling his tongue around the head and desperately attempting to hold back from fucking his face again. Within seconds, the sounds inside the car became depraved, urgent and unsettled, especially when Shiro reached back and pushed his hand down the back of Keith's pants. He grazed over his ass, but he didn't stop until he could apply pressure to Keith's own bulge.

He rubbed with the tips of his fingers, and Keith's elbows buckled. The timing was perfect, though. Keith watched Shiro's thighs tense and abdominals retract. He eagerly sealed his lips around the middle and noted how Shiro's length was keenly twitching, the ache apparent.

All at once, a spurt of hotness painted the back of Keith's throat in shots. The man weakly choked before slurping back what he could, wanting to keep the briny release in his mouth and hold it. Keith squeezed his eyes shut and flicked his tongue along the slit, worshipping the source with such honest reverence he almost believed himself.

"Fuck." Shiro groaned. His hips compulsorily rocked when Keith whimpered, still holding the man in his mouth who was letting him use his lips for those final threads of an intense orgasm. "Fuck. You're perfect. You're actually perfect."

Just as Shiro's climax was tapering, Keith unsheathed him from his mouth and a 'messy' splash of cum and saliva spilled onto Shiro's still-stiff cock and shaking thighs. Seemingly unbothered, Shiro gripped the front of Keith's shirt and tugged him up, but Keith barely needed to be guided. He scaled Shiro's body, clamoring to get onto his lap, and with cum trailing his chin, captured both sides of Shiro's face and kissed him hard.

"Work," Keith breathlessly reminded him.

That said, he didn't stop Shiro when he shifted him onto his back.

### III.

Shiro kissed him goodbye.

That in itself was a concept.

Keith drove home and went to bed alone, telling himself that this man was like any other man he'd been hired by. The only difference was his age.

_He's just good looking._

_You got lucky._

_Don't get too excited._

_You're going to have to keep up with other clients._

When he woke up, his phone had an alert from his Pal-and-Din's balance. Groggy and mouth residually tasting like cum, he rolled over and checked the alert. The number made him blink, his body jerking upward as if electrocuted. Keith counted the amount again and again, wondering if there'd been a mistake, but that wasn't possible. The zeroes were there.

Beneath the balance was a new 'patron' note.

" _Call this good faith money, and maybe your next month's rent."_

_Holy shit. He's serious._

It was hours later when his phone buzzed again.

A delivery pizza plopped onto his lap, Keith was in the middle of sucking garlic butter off his fingers and watching  _Friends_  when he realized the alert was probably from Shiro. Shifting toward the coffee table, he scrambled to make sure the box didn't hit the ground. When it stilled, he gestured at the box to stay and picked up his phone. He opened the app, read the message left for him and glanced at the clock with an arched brow, contemplating. Keith slowly sucked greasy cheese from his molars, picking with his tongue.

> **@t.shiro** : Dinner?

He stared down at the pizza box. 

> **@spitfire** : sure. why not? 

### IV.

He was too nice to be a 'daddy,' but then again, maybe that's what Keith liked about Shiro. It was gentleness followed by a firm palm clapping against his ass when they walked through the front doors of luxury stores. It was how, whenever Keith's lips were turned into a passive frown, Shiro caught his chin and kissed him until he was smiling and breathless. Keith liked pulling Shiro into dressing rooms by the front of his bomber jacket, and he liked whispering ' _daddy_ ' until they both came with his thighs spread apart and face sloppily pressed against the mirror.

Whenever Shiro pried him open in the back of designer stores there was the promise of Keith returning home with him for an even louder second round.

"Let me get that for you, baby," Shiro always whispered before ceremoniously tugging a tissue from his back pocket.

 _That_  was the line of cum spurted along his naked back.

Shiro liked red latex, and Keith liked wearing red latex. Shiro wouldn't tell Keith, but he also liked the idea that Keith could kick his ass if he asked him too, but Keith knew that already.

"You don't really like me that much," Keith whispered, on the verge of a practiced pout as he sat on Shiro's lap. Hand wrapped around Shiro's cock, he was slowly jerking him while wearing a red latex thong and matching red harness. The chains along the neck harness clinked in time with his pumping fist. "It kinda makes me sad, Daddy, and by  _kinda_  I mean  _really sad_."

'Daddy' had his head lolled back, arms spread open along the back of the couch and eyes on the ceiling as Keith used his hand. Shiro weakly laughed, only lightly incensed, and he murmured low through his thick breathing. "What has Daddy told you about assuming things?"

"But…" Keith slid his free hand up Shiro's naked chest, shifting forward. He savored the friction, the pressure against his taut balls that were barely constrained by the latex. He subtly swirled his hips. "But, Daddy—"

"Don't talk back," Shiro snapped, the huskiness in his throat sounding so raw Keith's mouth salivated. He wanted more than one kind of pounding. "You know what happens when you talk back."

"All I want is for you to act like you love me as much as—"

Shiro reached for the back of Keith's neck, and as soon as he clasped onto him, his fingers slid up into his hair and gripped. Keith exhaled in pain, but the terse hiss was followed by his navel excitedly dipping inward. He apologetically whispered ' _daddy_ ' beneath his breath, pleading with his eyes, but Shiro lifted his head and inspected Keith's face, entirely unmoved.

"When are you going to learn to listen?"

"Right now," Keith hurriedly whispered. Still holding the smaller man's head, Shiro reached for Keith's jaw and brushed his robotic thumb along his bottom lip. "Right now, Daddy."

"Yeah. You are."

Keith freed Shiro's length with a stuttering breath, which was for the better because Shiro yanked him to the side by his hair, bringing his face toward the couch. He reached with his bionic arm and yanked Keith's legs over, easily positioning him so that he was draped across his thighs. Before Keith could settle, there was a blinding sting across his ass, a smack so harsh and pointed Keith felt the air push from his lungs.

"Daddy," Keith breathed, his left cheek turning an angry red. Shiro held Keith's head still and squeezed the freshly whacked mound, kneading it before bringing his hand back and giving it a harsh slap that caused Keith's thigh to jiggle. "Daddy, I'm sorry. I'm  _sorry_ …"

Shiro didn't listen. More like, Shiro didn't care.

Keith swayed his ass from side to side, panting heavily into the cushion and trying to push himself up, but he was held firm. With a violent tug, Shiro ripped the side of Keith's thong and shoved the ruined underwear downward, both showing that inflicted ass in full and letting the other's cock hang free. Shifting his shoulders, Keith whimpered at the relief of that freedom, but it was confused by the burn along his backside. Not knowing what else to do, Keith weakly sniveled into an arm, already on the brink of tears.

"All you had to do was listen, baby…" Shiro said, leaned over and murmuring into Keith's ear. He whacked again, causing Keith to jolt and cry out.

The beating persisted, only splintered when Shiro's fingers thought to coast downward between Keith's ass cheeks and rub that tightened hole. He was tense, but he was relaxed. He was in agony, but he was also hitting a phase of euphoria that made the world feel like a fog.

It was amazing to Keith how pleading for a hard spanking could change into: "That's such a big cock, Daddy. You're so fucking th-thick. Please—fuck me, fuck me…"

Keith was leaned over the back of the couch, basking in the dim lighting as Shiro pounded into his hole from behind. Then split open, his face was flushed and ass bruised, but his earnest cries continued to spill from his lips. Each cry was accentuated by wetted thrusting that made undignified squelching, the lube smelling suspiciously like the artificial cherry suckers he loved to eat. Shiro had found his prostate and wouldn't stop taking advantage of that discovery, hand firm on one of Keith's biceps and the other viciously holding his throat.

He couldn't breathe.

He didn't  _want_ to breathe.

Shiro's bionic hand clenched, and the fingers pressed against the subtle swell of his Adam's apple. Keith's cries stifled on the lack of air, and he dug his nails into the fabric of the black couch. For a moment, he remembered the two-fingered hand signal they'd created for breath play, but he had a feeling he'd never use it, not when suffocation made his balls taut and cock stay hard throughout any transition, any shift they made.

The chains hanging from his collarbones continued to clink like chimes, mocking every smack of thigh against thigh. Keith clawed at Shiro's wrist when the spots appeared in front of his eyes, but the lightheadedness was so wholesome he didn't want to stop. The way it made his entire body spasm wasn't just for him either. Shiro's ragged breathing was becoming huskier, thick enough to halt any riling conversation impelled by the moment.

_Sex is sex is sex is sex._

Keith internally chanted his mantra as his shoulders shifted downward, a signal that he was breaking open. Overflowing like a pot of honey, he tried not to keen or let the man have the upper hand, but he already had the upper hand. Shiro had the fingers on his throat. Shiro was there and giving him something that extended beyond the concept of monetary value.

Not all, but so many humans were built for this exchange of fluids. He could price it for others, but he feared knowing he had never been able to price it for himself.

_Don't cry._

"You feel so fucking good," Keith stammered, digging and digging and digging. He was going to make Shiro's hand bleed. He was going to make him pay for this.

"Knees," Shiro ordered, slowing his thrusting. He held tight to Keith's waist and repositioned them on the nearby rug. The harsh ground felt good against Keith's joints after those soft thoughts, and Shiro pushed Keith's head down only to return to fucking him open.

"More," Keith pleaded, voice reaching an octave he didn't know he had.

Shiro reached for the clasp on Keith's collar and tore it off, flinging it across the living room. He buried his face into Keith's neck and reached with another hand to hold Keith between his legs. With a determined pace, he jerked him and heavily breathed over his shoulder, clearly fighting back his own need to finish. Keith turned his head, seeking Shiro's mouth and shuddered when their tongues met, swiping and seeking in between nips.

"Oh, God, Shiro…"

White light; a cliché.

Then again, maybe clichés existed for a reason or so Keith thought as he cried out, shook from the sudden expulsion of cum and tears.

Shiro finished inside only seconds after Keith climaxed. Beneath his chest were decorative droplets of white Keith couldn't let himself be embarrassed by. He was too high key due to his own sensitivity to be aware of anything except how his nerves were filleted open, how he'd been made _vulnerable._ Shiro pulled out, and Keith bowed forward even more with his nails burrowing into the rug. He let spunk drain down the backs of his thighs in unashamed tracks.

Without a word, Keith rolled over.

Naturally, Shiro's first reaction was to begin performing appropriate aftercare, but Keith interrupted the oncoming gesture. The second Shiro's fingers touched his bicep, he blurted out a warning so unlike him he barely recognized his own voice.

"Don't touch me!" Keith begged, on his back and palms lifted. His breathing was harsh, and his gaze was glassy as he stared at the ceiling. "Give me a second— I…"

He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him come like that. He'd been so there with Shiro that the foreign bliss was overwhelming, almost painful.

Stunned by the order, Shiro remained on his knees, waiting patiently for Keith to cool down. His eyes trailed around the other in concern he couldn't mask. It was something Keith decided he couldn't stand about Shiro. His posturing only lasted so long. When they were done fucking, then he was nothing but sincere and kind.

He hated it.

He didn't know why he hated.

It wasn't normal to hate something so good.

One hard exhale later, and Keith reached for Shiro. This peacemaking gesture brought the man onto his side beside Keith, but not before he grabbed the golden throw blanket on his couch. He tossed it over them both and wordlessly tugged Keith to his side, but he knew better than to speak. Cautiously watching the other, Shiro propped his head up on an open palm and trailed his hand along Keith's bruising hip. His hand trailed upward over his stomach and then smoothed up and down his chest in time with Keith's meditative breathing.

"Did I hurt you?" Shiro quietly asked.

" _No_ ," Keith snapped, but he withdrew from his aggression. "No. It felt _too_  good. That's all."

"Seriously?" Shiro paused his petting, but he continued when Keith anxiously shifted his hips.

Keith narrowed his stare. "Don't look too into it."

They both knew it was too late for that, and Shiro leaned down to kiss at the patch of skin beneath Keith's earlobe. "You should feel like that all the time."

"I'd die."

Shiro chuckled and kissed the spot once more before making a path of kisses toward Keith's forehead, hand stopping only when Keith took it to inspect the high end technology. He placed their hands together to examine the size difference, and Keith made a pleasantly surprised noise when the the bionic fingers curled overtop of the tips of his fingers.

### V.

Whenever the pair found an opportunity within Shiro's hectic schedule, they had their decadent outings. Bars, restaurants, clothing stores, and so on and so forth. Places where Shiro felt Keith was entitled to spend his money and with as much freedom as possible.

But a majority of their time spent together was at Shiro's loft.

The single bedroom home was modest in size but located in a luxury complex that made up for what it lacked in space with upscale finishes. White granite and kitchen cabinets that were impossible to slam, black couches and chairs from studios Keith had never heard the names of before, and a waterfall shower he practically lived in. The living room window that stood like a whole wall overlooked the sleepy Garrison District's cutting river, and more so than not, Keith found himself staring out onto an end of town he knew he'd never belong to.

Postured in black platform boots and a baggy red sweater that fell over a pair of black leggings, Keith had known that evening was going to be an 'indoors' evening. Weeks before, Shiro had given him a key so that he could come over before he finished his shifts rather than spend hours waiting around in case a surgery went over, and honestly, Keith couldn't complain. Without catching the onset, he'd found that his own single room apartment had become more and more of a closet than home. More of a safety net, more of a place to see Lance, more of an afterthought.

Tonight, Shiro was late.

This worried him for reasons he'd never had with another client before. Late in the terms of a children's hospital always read as a 'complication.' Sometimes there were impromptu meetings, but it still left Keith anxious. Shiro was already overworked and so giving in nature it pissed Keith off. He knew the man didn't need another layer to his life.

> **@t.shiro** : We'll order in and I'll suck you off.
> 
> **@spitfire** : don't bother. you're gonna need the sucking off from the sounds of it.
> 
> **@t.shiro** : Just let me.
> 
> **spitfire** : will it make you feel better?
> 
> **@t.shiro** : Yes.
> 
> **@spitfire** : fine. but i'm picking where we're ordering from.
> 
> **@t.shiro** : Good. I've made enough life or death decisions for one day.

Keith was staring out that window when the familiar click of the key driving into the door handle resonated throughout the hushed apartment. Keith turned on his heel, arms over his chest, to greet Shiro with his usual ' _took you long enough_ ,' but he stopped. Before he could manage the words, he'd caught a glimpse of Shiro's beaten down expression, the weariness unbound.

"Bad day?" Keith cautiously asked, watching Shiro drift from the doorway with a partial wave and make a beeline for the kitchen island. He dropped his bag and opened the door to fridge, looking for a beer.

He didn't answer until he found the bottle opener. "I've had better."

Keith carefully strode toward the island himself. He tugged back one of the black leather stools and climbed onto it with a small hop and grunt. Shiro smiled at the motions, but the smile dissipated as quickly as it'd occurred. He nursed his drink, fingers pushing back his hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Keith prodded, knowing he had to be careful. This wasn't his place in Shiro's life, but God knew he spent most of his current life with the man.

"It's nothing that hasn't happened before," Shiro said, and Keith saw him veil his pain one layer at a time. "You never know what you're going to find when you open someone up on a table, but I guess it's even harder when you find something inside someone who hasn't even really had a life yet. It's a heavy, difficult topic. I shouldn't talk about it…"

"You can talk to me," Keith clarified. "I'm here for whatever you need me to be here for. We're kind of friends at this point, aren't we?"

Shiro paused and took another swig, brain sifting through the sand Keith had just given him. He nodded in agreement and exhaled, clearly fighting to keep himself level. "I had to tell a couple their kid won't make it past five-years-old today. That's all."

_That's all._

"Shiro," Keith started, searching his face.

"There's nothing we can do," he quickly added. Shiro settled on the counter, balancing himself on his forearms as he continued to drink. "But I still feel like I could've done something more. It's always when you think medical science has hit its peak that these things happen. Our team has been working with this family for months, and we thought this was going to be the end of this case aside from checkups. We had no idea. I would've put my life on this kid making it."

"You've done great things before. You've helped so many kids and families. One incident doesn't erase that."

"It's easier to say that than feel it."

Keith wrapped his fingers around Shiro's beer bottle and slowly pulled it toward himself. Shiro didn't let go, and in turn, was dragged closer. Their foreheads pressed together, and Keith tilted his head as he parted his lips to speak, noting the wateriness in Shiro's eyes. With other men, Keith might've been repulsed, but with Shiro, he dug his foot deeper into the earth, ready to withstand any kind of pressure to ensure this man was happy.

"You are  _so_  good."

Shiro swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, a quiet rage appearing on his face when Keith reached for the side of his throat. Keith gently held him, and he was confronted by the fact Shiro was truly in agony over this unprecedented loss.

"You did everything you could, and I'm sure his parents understand. They know, Shiro. They have to know. I've never even seen this kid, and I know from the look on your face."

He tried to laugh. "I look that miserable?"

Keith didn't laugh in return. His expression shifted to something sadder, more pensive in his tiny frown and lowered lids. Not even fully understanding why himself, Keith moved the bottle from between them and shifted forward. With his chest on fire, Keith loosely wrapped his arm around Shiro's neck and he pressed their lips together, kissing him without abandon.

"Let me make you happy, Shiro."

"You already do."

### VI.

They spent Christmas together.

While Keith would've called this happening something along the lines of ' _by chance_ ' or ' _a freak accident_ ,' Shiro would've called it ' _planned_.' One didn't buy eggnog, mistletoe, a ham and a festive red vibrator on the off chance Christmas wasn't a joint excursion.

" _We don't even like ham."_

" _Not the point, Keith."_

"Is that red halter really how you're supposed to celebrate Jesus' birthday?"

Keith was draped across the couch like  _Venus of Urbino_ , pointedly doing leg lifts with a bowl of peppermint ice cream balanced on the lounge's arm. His eyes were focused on that day's seventy-third replay of  _A Christmas Story_ , even though Shiro was standing in the doorway with a condescending look and waiting for Keith's full attention.

It never came.

"Jesus is a full grown man, Shiro. He's more than thankful for this gift."

Shiro shifted his gaze to the side and brought his glass of spiked eggnog to his lips, murmuring, " _This gift_  being…"

"Me existing as I am."

It wasn't that Shiro didn't have family, but from what Keith had gathered, his family wasn't particularly interested in Christmas as a holiday. Keith, on the other hand, tended to spend Christmas with either Lance's family or somewhere in a club, drinking himself into oblivion.

" _Families are overrated."_

" _Don't you want one of your own?"_

" _You mean my own nuclear family, don't you? Not really. Can you imagine me as a parent?"_

" _Your kids would have the best self-esteem."_

" _You can quit talking now."_

Shiro eyed Keith's black boy shorts, hyper-focusing on the way his ass hung out of them like two perfectly shaped bowling balls. "Aren't you cold?"

"You weren't asking me if I was cold when I was out to dinner with you three nights ago. I'm pretty sure I was wearing less than this. Faux-concern is really unbecoming on you—"

Shiro lifted a hand in defeat. "Right. Point made."

Keith set his bowl on the table and sat up, then leaning over his knobby knees that'd grown less bony from accidentally sticking to Shiro's diet. Truly, it was an environmental thing. "You could've gone to your hospital Christmas party. Actually, you probably should have. That would've been the socially acceptable thing to do."

"You wouldn't go with me."

Keith stood and tried not to roll his eyes. He barely managed not to, but he felt the impending hernia. "You don't bring your  _baby_  to a Christmas party. You're so bad at this."

Shiro stepped up behind Keith who'd paused to admire the Christmas tree they'd drunkenly decorated together with mismatched ornaments. He wrapped his arms around Keith's waist and swayed him to the side, then playfully kissing at his temple again and again until Keith relented and turned his head to kiss him on the mouth.

"I got you something."

"You get me something every twenty-four hours."

Shiro couldn't argue against that. "But this something is  _wrapped_."

"Well, then we both know what it isn't…"

Shiro kissed him harder to shut him up and smacked his ass with a clap that could be heard in the hallway. Keith hissed in appreciation.

"Do it again, Takashi."

"Let me have this first."

 _This_  being gift giving.

Keith decided then wasn't the best time to tell Shiro about the last wrapped present he'd received from one of his patrons. It'd been a professionally bound and crafted photo album containing pictures of his own feet. Lance had spent an entire evening flipping through the pages, assuring Keith the angles and lighting were flawless.

Shiro disappeared into his bedroom with a quiet ' _wait here_ ,' and Keith glanced at the overnight bag he'd dropped by the door when he first walked in. His expression softened, and he padded over to the leather satchel, first digging out his red kimono robe and then spotting his own shabbily wrapped gift tucked away in the corner of his bag. He reached for the parcel, hesitated and then snatched it up with an uncomfortable look to the left.

He was in his original spot wearing aforementioned robe when Shiro reappeared, holding a much bigger box than Keith's tiny present with its patronizing reindeer paper.

Shiro set the red box down on the coffee table, and he plopped down on the couch with a small collapse before he leaned forward between his knees. He nodded at the box.

"Humor me."

Keith warily looked at the box, still hiding his own present behind his back. He knelt down in front of the coffee table and let Shiro's present hide at his knees.

"What must it be like to actually be this corny?" Keith asked beneath his breath and tugged the ribbon. "I'd ask if you made this bow if I didn't know you're good with rope. Someday you'll have to tell me where you acquired that skill."

"We both have our secrets."

Keith waggled his eyebrows with a comically straight face and then tore the paper. He popped open the box and peered inside only to see another tightly wrapped red box. Keith lifted his eyes to Shiro who was evidently enjoying himself. Trying not to laugh, Shiro leaned back, resting his head against his arms like a makeshift pillow.

"You're a pain in the ass."

"That's kind of all you ever want, isn't it?"

Keith's mouth popped open in surprise. "That must be good eggnog."

Shiro winked at him, and Keith returned to the task at hand. It was three boxes in when Keith grew frustrated again, but the final box contained an envelope. Keith warily glanced up at Shiro and plucked the envelope free from its confines, then sitting on his feet and turning the cream envelope in his hands. Written on the front in red ink was his name, and Keith stared down with admiration on his face. Shiro's penmanship was incredibly precise due to his bionic arm.

"Is this the check for my funeral? Opening those boxes took a few years off my life."

Shiro shook his head, continuing to laugh. "Better get life insurance."

Keith carefully tore open the crisp envelope. Inside were two pieces of paper he didn't recognize at first, but as they slipped out onto his open hand, he quickly gathered they were plane tickets. Startled, Keith sought out the printed destination, and when his eyes locked onto it, he had to slowly sink down onto the floor so that his legs were comfortably crossed.

"Osaka International Airport," Keith read out loud. When it dawned on him, he dropped the tickets onto his lap. "We're going to Japan?"

"I go in the spring every year," Shiro explained. "I mean, to see my parents, but it's mostly because I need the break by that point. The hospital is pretty big, so we have people who are willing to book over one another. I don't get as many days as the surgeons who've been there longer than I have, but over two weeks is still better than most."

Keith looked down at the tickets again, and he couldn't stop himself from climbing to his feet and stepping over the table. Unable to look Shiro in the eye, he promptly dropped himself onto the man's lap who caught him with hands already reached out and prepared.

"Hey,  _Daddy_ ," Keith said, sounding curt as he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Shiro's neck and hide his face in his shoulder. "You don't bring your baby home to meet your parents."

"Mn, well—we both know I'm bad at this already so…" Shiro snaked his arms around Keith and ran his hands up and down his back. "Even though I make you cry once a…"

Keith shushed him, and retracted so that they could brush noses. "Is there still eggnog?"

"Are you saying I'd have to drink all of it just to catch you off guard?"

Keith retrieved a glass from the kitchen and returned to the couch with Shiro who was reclined on the cushions. Eyes on the television, Keith moved in front of him, balancing his cup. He returned to lying on his side but this time with his back pressed to Shiro's chest.

It wasn't that Keith intended to fall asleep with Shiro without getting laid first, but he did. Forehead pressed to his chest, Keith woke up sometime in the middle of the night with the television off behind them and the room cloaked in darkness only subjugated by moonlight, the flaking shadows of drifting snow.

In the moment, he listened to Shiro's breathing, heavy eyes raking down the man's form. At some point, Shiro had grabbed a blanket and draped it over them, and Keith was amazed the movements had managed to wake him up before then. After a moment of blearily staring, he spotted Shiro's hand relaxed on his hip, but the touch wasn't why he focused on the limb.

A silver bracelet was firmly wrapped around Shiro's wrist. Keith instantly recognized it as the present he'd pointedly pretended to forget, especially when he realized it couldn't compare to plane tickets. The piece of jewelry was something Keith had dipped into his private savings for while wandering the stores on the upper crust's end of town. It was thin and stylishly discrete, and the bracelet was linked through a series of moon-shaped charms that created the moon's cycle.

Keith pulled the blankets over them and wrapped a leg around Shiro's thigh.

" _You seem like a space person, to be honest."_

" _What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _I'm not even sure. You're just space. Maybe from space."_  

### VII.

Keith reminds himself that he's there for the money. He's there because as soon as he steps into the elevator outside Shiro's cozy loft his phone alerts him he's received several hundred dollars. It's a part of the deal, and he likes having his own tiny apartment. He likes his cold pizza in the fridge, and he likes his Dum Dum Pops, and he likes waking up alone with the dust motes.

" _What do you want to be?"_

" _Don't judge me for being this or try telling me I should do something elsewhere. Don't tell me I'm too good looking or degrading myself because you feel dirty for liking me in leather."_

" _I just want to know you."_

" _I don't want you to know me."_

But he keeps breaking his rules. Willingly, he stands naked in Shiro's kitchen past Monday morning, and sometimes, he's Shiro and not Daddy. This dangerous inclusion of the second name tells Keith he's giving himself to the dogs. Devoured and ripped from limb to limb; when he finds himself asking Shiro to discuss his patients, he realizes he's invested enough to smile.

It breaks his heart for no reason.

Even though he's the one who leaves after Shiro feeds him French toast and kisses him with unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, Keith feels shot through the sternum.

" _You're really smart, you know? I like listening to you."_

" _I was in college once."_

" _Do you think you'd want to go back?"_

_"Don't try to save me, Dr. Shirogane. You have your patients for that."_

He stops setting his alarm.

He's not sure when it happens, but he stops setting his alarm, and he grabs for Shiro's hands when Shiro wakes him up with sleepy blow jobs that make him pant so hard he cries.

" _Are you okay, babe?"_

Babe, not baby.

Keith sobs.

### VIII.

On Keith's insistence and Shiro's flexible bank account, they did cocaine in the back of a club called Knifed. The establishment sat on a seasoned end of town where—four drinks in—Keith slurred on the words, 'I found myself here, you know?'

It was after Keith rubbed the excess cocaine along Shiro's gums, promptly melding their numbing mouths together with that familiar unspoken quality that haunted them both. It was a pestering ghost, a regular door slammer and faucet manipulator. Keith couldn't exorcise it from their homes. He figured it was because it wasn't in their homes anyway. It was in their bodies, a malicious presence digging sigils into the limbs they regularly entangled.

 _This isn't a ghost_ , he realized one night, face resting on Shiro's naked chest and the digital alarm clock glaring through him _. This is much bigger than that._

A haunting he could handle.

A full on possession? He wasn't trained for that.

"Here?" Shiro asked, rubbing his nose with a hard sniff and bringing them back into the present.

Like a vacuum, Keith was distilled in the moment. He couldn't see past Shiro.

Keith was seated on the countertop, hair pulled back and red motorcycle tank too thin for February. Shiro had his hand on Keith's bared knee, and they were both hyper aware of their blow-stimulated heartbeats.

"When did you start coming here then? You've never mentioned it before."

Keith tried to figure out why he wanted to answer, but he caved and simply did.

"Somewhere between the moment I stopped caring and my final semester of college. I was an overachieving orphan with a lot to prove, but then it kind of occurred to me that the people I was trying to prove myself to didn't give a fuck whether or not I did well. I decided I wanted to live how I wanted to live and stop feeling so lost all the time. Kind of funny, isn't it? The systematics felt so directionless, but this fucking…" He hesitated on his words, semi-smooshing them together. "…this fucking bedlam of sex and sweat made more sense to me than physics."

"This isn't Sodom and Gomorrah, Keith," Shiro murmured over the rim of his plastic cup. "You're a real person doing what you want. I can't imagine you doing something you don't want to do. You'd probably kill me if I even tried."

"I would."

"I don't try a lot of things with you," Shiro said, keeping his words surprisingly even considering his state.

"You're a smart man, not that I needed to tell you that."

Keith clenched the edge of the countertop when Shiro remained quiet. His eyes found solace in the tops of his naked thighs. As the murky wordlessness descended, he tried to count the freckles Shiro had once discovered constellations in.

" _You_ would _have Aries on your inner-thigh."_

" _Aries seems pretty obvious to you, doesn't it?"_

" _You and that fire inside."_

" _Are you going to fuck me or admire my melaninized cells? I've been hugging this bottle of lube for thirty minutes now, and I'm pretty sure she's warm and ready to go."_

" _I just bought your plane ticket to Japan. You can let me appreciate your other human qualities for a minute."_

" _Are you going to tell your parents you're paying to get it in?"_

" _God—stop laughing."_

" _I'm sorry. I'm sorry."_

" _And you're still laughing."_

" _Because I'm not actually sorry."_

" _You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me, Keith Kogane."_

" _You have no idea how happy that makes me."_

The two suddenly held a stare, and Shiro leaned forward with his cup hitting the counter. He reached for the backs of Keith's knees, but instead of bringing him forward, pushed himself between Keith's thighs, pushed Keith's spine to the mirror.

"Don't disappear because you told me that," Shiro murmured, noting the hard grip Keith had on his biceps. He backed up at the warning squeeze. "You've been thinking about going for a while."

"I haven't."

"It's okay if you have."

Keith choked on the vibrancy before him. He let go of Shiro's arms and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and shook his head before he slammed a fist on the surface beneath him. Shiro let go of Keith's knees so that he could give him space, but Keith flung an arm forward and caught the front of Shiro's shirt before bringing him down into a kiss.

Mouth open against Shiro's, he pushed back that pale forelock and wrapped his legs around his waist, hips begging with forward motions. Shiro's arms encircled Keith, and he stepped back so that he could hoist him. Their mouths didn't part when Shiro walked toward a bathroom stall.

"I don't want to go," Keith whispered.

He didn't understand why he felt like he had to.

They fucked until Keith was hiccupping out Shiro's name, tears welling as he touched his belly and wondered if he was truly feeling Shiro inside him. Keith knew he was thin, but there was no way. The idea, though. The idea was enough to make him come too soon for someone who's entire life was based around the idea of expelling human fluids.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Hey, guys. Not to ruin the romance, but is everything okay in there?"

"Daddy," Keith cried, choking on the word.

They didn't knock again.

Shiro buried his face into Keith's throat and continued to ram, anger dispelling and breath unsettled. He held tight to the back of Keith's hair, and Keith touched his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Keith sputtered, familiar with the fact Shiro's body should be close to finishing, but it wasn't. He couldn't get off to them as they were anymore. "I'm so sorry, Shiro."

Keith's desperate apology made Shiro halt. He cleared his throat as his ragged breathing continued to mingle near Keith's pulse. After a pause, he carefully pulled out of Keith who parted his lips in a silent yell. He was sore, which was fine, but his adrenaline hadn't prepared him for it the way it typically did. The thought alone caused his heart to tremor. It'd been a very different kind of cathartic fuck, hadn't it? This wasn't something he'd ever done before.

"It's not you," Shiro promised before Keith could even attempt to soothe him. He carefully set Keith down and fixed his black pants, not fazed by the condemning cum stain along the front of his sweater. "I knew what you wanted going into this, but I should… I should probably take a couple days off from you. I have to wring this out and start over for us."

"Okay," Keith said, body rushing through his high. He'd quickly forgotten the pain, but he felt pathetic, desperate. "Just don't…"

Keith stepped toward Shiro and kept his voice low when the bathroom door banged open. A ring of feminine and masculine voices followed, but they were too distracted to take notice of the two in the stall. Keith planted a hand against Shiro's chest who refused to look at him.

"Call a cab," Keith insisted.

"Keith," Shiro started. He shifted his gaze to Keith's face and leaned down. After observing Keith's expectantly lifted brow, he reached and held the man's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. Keith pretended the way he shifted into his warm palms was an accident. "You have to understand I don't think you owe me more. I'd like to think— I'd like to think I get this. I can rationalize this. I'm your job, and I respect your job. You've done so much for me. This isn't one of those situations where I want to guilt you into being more to me, but I also can't tell you that I wouldn't like that to happen. You need to know. You need to know that's where I stand."

"I know," Keith said, exhaling the words as if they cut his mouth. "Shiro, I know, but I don't know what I want to do. I might never know. What if I _never_ know?"

_What if you find someone else?_

"That's fine." Shiro wrinkled his nose as he tore through disappointment Keith realized wasn't directed at him. "You know, we fight these wars inside ourselves, and this is the cocaine talking, but we fight these wars, and like a real war, we have to make hard choices. Whatever you decide, Keith, I'll understand. I want you to be happy. That's what I want."

Keith blinked back tears, refusing to let them spill. He cleared his throat and choked on a breath before he dropped his hand from Shiro's frame. Knowing they had to go, he reached to slide open the bathroom stall's lock. He felt too incapacitated to keep talking.

"Cab," Keith ordered, his throat tight. "Don't drive home."

Shiro let his gaze linger on Keith's face for a second longer, and he grabbed the door. "Get home safe."

Keith watched Shiro go, and the ungodly thrum of the club's music pounded through the soles of his feet. He watched him disappear through the bathroom door, and suddenly, the black pleather on his thighs felt like nothing, as if he'd been stripped bare for everyone in the club to see.

He shivered and shakily dug out his cellphone, shutting the stall and locking it. Keith closed the toilet's lid and took a seat, staring down at his metallic gold Docs with a swallow.

"Hey," he said when the answering voice peeled over his phone. "Hey—can you come get me? No, no. I'm not in trouble, but I kind of don't want—I don't want to hangout alone right now."

### IX.

"Don't tell me you're into him," Lance said, seated on Keith's balcony with his eyes focused on the pluming dawn. He was gripping a pale yellow coffee mug and refusing to look at his friend as he furiously smoked. Bundled, he looked like a pissed off blue marshmallow. "You know he'd make you quit doing this job. You know nothing pays as good."

"No one  _makes_  me do anything," Keith snapped back, but his hard expression softened. "Especially him."

There was a pause, but Lance finally shot him a short side glance. "So you  _want_  to quit."

"I already have," he said with the slightest admission of defeat. "Not on purpose. He started paying for everything, and eventually, I didn't need other clients. It's actually been nice for once."

"That's not a boyfriend, Keith. That's not even a fucking husband. We've got a word for that here, you know? What you've got is the ripest, juiciest, sweetest slice of sugar daddy we've ever seen, and you're gonna ruin it the second he thinks you're emotionally available."

Piqued, Keith kept his snap thoughts to himself. He sucked down smoke and collapsed into his tiny black lawn chair. His ass hurt from Shiro's fruitless efforts to get off inside him, and he couldn't escape Shiro's parting words, the way he'd apologetically kissed him and looked like a dog beaten into submission.

"If you say anything to him," Lance tried again, sounding more collected and cautious. "If you say a word about this, then he'll be gone in a few months. He's a doctor, man. What he's looking for isn't someone who looks cute in a collar. What he's looking for is someone he can bring to the hospital's Christmas party next year."

_"You wouldn't go with me."_

_Oh, fuck._

"Not everyone is Hunk," Keith said quietly, and when Lance stiffened, Keith resented himself for even saying the name. "I didn't mean that, dude."

"That was different," Lance murmured, recovering too quickly. Even Lance knew that if he lashed out, then he'd be proving Keith's point. His age was showing. "It was  _so_  different."

"Tonight Shiro told me that in war we have to make hard choices, even if it's just the war inside ourselves. Hunk and you—that was one of those hard choices."

They sat in uncounseled quiet. The silence appeared before them like the very head of the sun, and Lance wordlessly stepped over to Keith before dropping into his best friend's lap. Keith tilted his head back and groaned. His breath appeared above his face like a fire signal.

"We're going to meet his parents next month."

"His parents," Lance repeated as if disgusted. He rolled his head onto Keith's shoulder and looked at his friend, glaring until he the stare caved under a heavy weight. Lance reached and ruffled Keith's hair. "Do you think he loves you, too?"

"Yeah," Keith said, and his voice cracked, dissolved over the both of them. He reached up with his sleeve to wipe his nose as if he were just cold. "I think so."

"Has he asked you to stop doing anything for him?"

"Never."

Lance whistled and deflated. 

### X.

" _If you need space, then let me give that to you."_

" _Don't make this sound so final. Don't sound like that."_

" _If this ends up being final, then it'll still be okay."_

" _Shiro, shut up. You don't know that."_

" _I'm trying to do the right thing. I'm trying not to take your job from you or make you feel indebted. I'm trying to let this happen on your own terms. You don't even want this right now, so why should I keep pushing the issue?"_

" _You've pushed nothing. You didn't do anything—"_

" _A few weeks, babe."_

"— _I couldn't get it together, Shiro. I couldn't get it together. Don't cut me off because I'm trying to get it together."_

" _Keith."_

" _Shiro, please."_

A few weeks turned into more than a month.

Keith found it funny that Shiro had been the one to ask him not to go, but by some cruel design neither of them had expected, it was Shiro who built the wall between them.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Keith discovered the truth in that the same way he rediscovered the first breaks of spring were still cold. Seated on his balcony alone, he thought about the oncoming trip to Japan and Shiro's parents. He considered what excuses Shiro might've given them as to why he couldn't tag along, and in his darkest hour, he considered Lance's words, the harsh truths the man had attempted to spoon feed him when Keith had thought for the slightest second that maybe he was in love and that love was mutual.

" _Hah_."

Keith choked on his own bitter laughter, nose red from the low temperature and crying he told himself he was so above.

It was a kind of crying rooted in grief. Something no rationality could stop because emotions are finicky, and sometimes, humans really are simply at the mercy of a torrential downpour.

Keith was flooding, hands endlessly reaching up to wipe away snot and water with a tongue coated in salt. He felt bullied. Not just by Shiro, but also, himself. In his heart of hearts, he understood that Shiro had done this to keep himself from shaming Keith out of his job. Shiro knew boundaries, had listened to Keith mention how he was proud of how he made his money, and Keith had never thought that empowering statement could swing around and bite him.

He knew the answer was having an honest conversation.

He knew that was the hardest thing for most people to do.

Black and white thinking; what a dangerous myth.

_This cannot be love._

Much to Keith's surprise, Shiro continued to pay for everything. He'd thought to tell him to stop, but Keith was afraid it would read as him letting Shiro go without giving them the chance to cool off.

It wasn't until Shiro wasn't with him every day did it occur to Keith he felt like a stranger in his own home. He no longer recognized the dishes or his broken cheese drawer. He didn't find comfort in how he settled himself on his couch, and there was something miserably sterile about his bed. There were small things, but it wasn't until he walked in with a bag of groceries he habitually would've bought for himself and Shiro did the greatest cessation occur to him.

The glass red bowl of Dum Dum Pops stood glaringly empty, condom gone.

Calmly, Keith set down the brown paper bag, pushing it toward the back of his single countertop with a slow glide. He reached for the empty bowl, caught its cold rim, and walked toward the sink. Shoulders slowly lifting and falling, he stared at his reflection in the bottom of the red pool and gave himself eye contact. The reflection was distorted, but to Keith, it wasn't ugly or a shattered representation of himself. He'd been that person, and he'd loved that person very much, but like a tidal wave, the realization that it was time to move on drowned him.

That was okay.

He'd be okay.

Keith abruptly inhaled, fingers shaking and arms trembling. He lifted the bowl, and with a hard cry, slammed the glass against the bottom of the sink until it exploded like crystal guts. 

### XI.

Refunding plane tickets tended to require a deal with the devil, which was something Keith was thankful for. Shiro's capacity for doing the right thing had a knack for overcompensating and creating something negative. If he'd refunded the ticket, then Keith knew things between them would never be the same again. In some way, it was Keith's final thread of hope for them.

This proved to be with good reason.

When Keith received a message from Shiro, it was the night before their flight date. The mornings were still frigid, but the afternoons were tempered enough for light jackets, and Keith had noticed the return of green, something he hadn't realized he'd missed.

 

 

 

> **@t.shiro** : I know it's not a good time but if you still want to go with me then you should know I still want you to.

He received the message while standing in a pair of knee high boots outside of the neon-lit Knifed. Around his neck was a red boa Lance had draped across his shoulders to ' _keep out the cold_ ,' and he looked like he was wearing a black leather jacket and no pants. Then again, if your name was Keith, then the definition of pants greatly differed from the majority's definition.

"Too drunk for this," Keith whispered, voice also too harsh to come across as indifferent as he'd wished for it to.

Lance plucked the phone from Keith's hand, and Keith punched his naked shoulder in hopes of making him drop it. Lance shoved him to the side and read the message with a stoic face. He inhaled nice and slow and then respired before looking to Keith with a finely threaded brow lifted toward his hairline.

"Reply to him."

"Not right now."

Keith tugged the phone out of Lance's hand and then stared down at the screen. Lance's firm hand grasped onto his bicep and tugged him toward the road, forcing Keith to stumble. His friend guided them toward the nearest corner, and he hailed a taxi without a word of explanation, not even divulging when Keith insisted he tell him what they were doing or he wouldn't get inside the car.

"I'm helping you," Lance said. "I'm doing for you what I wish someone would've done for me with Hunk."

Keith stared at his friend, and he suddenly realized Lance was serious. There was a quiet pain stitched into his stoic expression, all playfulness circling the drain for his friend-in-need.

"Okay," Keith said, and he stepped inside the car. "I'll go."

Together, they went to Keith's house and packed. By the time they were in the mode to perform emergency travel mandates, they were changed into sweatpants and waiting for the coffee pot to finish.

"I haven't even told him I'm going."

"Don't," Lance said and tugged Keith's luggage out from beneath his bed, suddenly far soberer than he'd been acting in the club. He slammed it on the mattress and then flipped it open. "Just show up. Show up and get on that plane and don't look back. Also, make sure you pack for the parents and not Shiro's dick. You're going to be his boyfriend now."

"What do you mean ' _not for Shiro's dick_?' I have other clothes."

Lance yanked open the closet door and tugged out a pair of leopard print skin tight pants Keith had once spent an hour wedging himself into with his help. Unable to look the pants in the eye, Keith swung his mouth to the side and strangled the oncoming pout.

"Those were expensive," Keith tried, making it sound like a defense.

"So are you, and you're still a tacky hoe."

For a split-second, Keith tried to be offended, but he stopped and gently elbowed Lance in the ribs instead. The men stared down Keith's empty suitcase and grimaced.

"This might be the hardest thing we've ever done."

Lance parted his lips to counter this idea, but Keith cut him a sharp look that made Lance keep the final pun to himself.

### XII.

_"He loves you, okay?"_

_"But what if he doesn't."_

_"He wants you to meet his parents. This is real, and I don't even have to know the man to see that. Don't let him walk away, Keith. Don't be me."_

The airport was overwhelming when Keith arrived, tickets concealed in his carry on bag. With his luggage checked in and security finished, he was standing with that single gate in mind and his sweaty hands holding tight to the strap of his leather satchel. The passing bodies seemed to know exactly where they needed to go, but Keith was only a third as confident.

Was this the right choice? Was he betraying himself by selling out? Could he really consider this a form of being bought out when he knew it was going to make him happy?

 _Life doesn't end here_ , he reminded himself as he strode forward.  _Being happy with one person and figuring out your future with another person isn't ending your life_.  _You can always go back. He won't stop you. He doesn't want to._

Keith checked the time on his phone and quickened his pace. Something like a residual panic he couldn't place, couldn't find a source to, told him that if Shiro got on that plane without him, then they'd never see each other again. It was a dramatic and anxious thought, but it motivated him to jog toward Gate A5 with ten minutes until boarding.

When he reached the gate, Keith had to pause before full on approaching. He'd spotted Shiro, and the ache in his chest spread like napalm, enveloping him and laying waste to all of his self-preservation.

Shiro stood with his phone in hand, quietly reading  _The Washington Post_  on his phone. It was a part of his morning routine much like his black coffee, egg whites and five-mile jog. If he woke up before Keith, which was typical, then Keith tended to roll awake and find Shiro reading in bed while he attempted to gather the energy to bother with the French press. He only stopped reading if Keith explicitly asked him to or if he was just _that_ in need of a morning quickie.

This was why, when Shiro lifted his eyes from the phone and looked toward him with a pensive gaze, Keith was startled by the lack of preparation he had. There was no getting his bearings. There was no final breath. This was going to be his life now.

But honestly, what a beautiful life.

Keith shifted his bag on his shoulder and strode forward, reaching to push his bangs off his forehead and unable to look at Shiro. Eye contact had been the hardest between them, and it was why he suddenly corrected himself, looked the man head on.

"What are you doing here? You didn't reply, so I—"

That voice. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that voice.

Keith shook his head, unable to answer Shiro's flummoxed expression or give an answer to the actual question, but it wasn't solely because he was too confused by himself. His throat was thick, his words caught up in a rush of emotion so incredible in its breadth he couldn't speak across that wide valley. There were no words but three, anyway. Keith was simply afraid he couldn't say them with enough power to convince the man he meant them.

He darted toward Shiro and pointedly tossed his bag into a nearby seat, and Shiro didn't hesitate to pocket his phone and forget his coffee on the nearby table.

"Takashi," Keith said, words tearing from him. He wasn't afraid when he approached the man and didn't slow his stride. Rather, Keith flung an arm around Shiro's neck and knocked the man back enough to where he had to brace himself with another foot. In turn, Shiro's arms didn't hesitate to wrap around Keith, and with a small break in his voice, Keith bit the final threads of fear in two. "Takashi, I love you."

Shiro inhaled on the concept, and Keith felt the cold of his silver bracelet digging into the skin peeking from beneath the back of his sweater.

"I don't know what else to say," Keith continued, words cascading with his tears. He reached between them for his chest, body heaving against the weighted feeling. "I still don't know, but I want to be here. I want to do this with you, and I think we can figure it out together."

"I'm patient," Shiro promised and he buried his face into the top of Keith's head. "We'll focus on us and figure this out. It'll be okay. You know I love you too, right? I can't even tell you for how long at this point."

Keith pulled away enough to reach for the back of Shiro's head. He tugged him down into a kiss that Shiro buffered by cradling the back of his skull and wearing a grin that melted into a weak laugh. Right there, Keith decided he could follow the man to the moon and back, and something told him, that maybe the feeling really was mutual.

"You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me, Takashi Shirogane."

"And you have no idea how happy that makes me."


End file.
